Something In His Eyes
by Thanatos Angelos Girl
Summary: Yet, his Weasel has something in his eyes that excites Scabior. He's unique. Bill/Scabior M


**_Something In His Eyes_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own HP._**

**_A/N: This is for the A Very Slashy Competition. Please enjoy this M&MWP and remember that though this is third person this story is in Scabior's perspective so there may be misperceptions on his behalf. Enjoy! _**

Scabior yawns, stretching his arms in the air – making sure to miss the branches around him – and then stands up on the branch he was on to stretch his tired legs. He always hated a chase in the morning. He wasn't a morning person. Maybe that's why his red haired trophy had escaped from him. The little trophy is starting to come his way – Scabior can see him from his position in the large oak tree. Little Weasel seems to think he could run from him. Scabior wasn't sure why the blood traitor hadn't Apparated already. Maybe the redhead loves the chase they had been entangled in the past few days.

Scabior knows he does.

The Weasley's running all according to plan. Of course, Scabior's the best Snatcher so it isn't much of a surprise when the other man falls to the ground. Tripwires were the weakness of all animals– including Weasels and Scabior knows how to set a trap.

Scabior hops down through the branches and arrives at a branch right above the head of his prey. He can hear the other man's struggle and realizes the Weasel can't get up. Scabior observes how he tries to stand and his expression of agony as he tries to. Scabior sighs. Poor Weasel. He can't run anymore. Probably sprained or broke something…

"Hello mate, fancy meeting you here, eh?" Scabior cocks his head to the side and grins from ear to ear. His Weasel's face floods with color – red, just like his flaming hair. He's mad. He doesn't seem to have a sense of humor. Scabior can fix that.

"Get away from me," he growls and Scabior watches the way he almost bares his teeth and wonders if the Weasel knows how much he resembles a wolf when he does it. His scars leave normal people to think he's dangerous and frightening. With his growl normal people probably would be slightly unsettled by him. But Scabior isn't normal - far from it really.

"Fine, but you have to walk away from me," Scabior smirks as the Weasel glares him down. He knew Scabior has been watching him struggle. The Weasel probably suffered from an injured pride. Maybe that's why he can't take a joke.

"Fuck you." Scabior brushes off the insult with an amused expression. He loves playing with his prey. But he doesn't normally play with them once they're caught. Usually that's when they become boring. Yet his Weasel has something in his eyes that excites Scabior. He's unique.

"You want to fuck me? Well, I don't usually do it on the dirty ground. I have to maintain my stunning looks, you know." Scabior runs a hand through his wild hair and its red streak as he strikes a pose. His blue-gray eyes watch the redhead run his eyes up and down his lean, tall body and Scabior smirks.

Scabior was stunning in that roguish way, but Scabior had to admit the Weasel really wasn't that bad. Scabior couldn't help liking his slightly dirty, wild, red hair and piercing blue eyes. Scabior was quite curious about his Weasel's scar on his cheek. Scars always told a story and Scabior began to wonder what that story was…

"What do you want from me?" The redhead snaps breaking Scabior out of his thoughts. He looks a little flustered and Scabior feels like laughing. The Weasel was going through denial. He was attracted to Scabior.

This was going to be fun.

"Huh, I haven't thought about that. I was supposed to catch you but now I don't know what I should do." Scabior pretends that he's pondering what to do – looking up at the sky and holding his chin in his hand. Scabior's voice has a joking lilt to it and it infuriates the man before him.

"Let me leave?" Weasel suggests as he cradles his ankle in his hands. He's sitting down but Scabior can tell they're probably the same height standing up.

"How? You want to run on that ankle of yours?" Scabior motions to the Weasel and the Weasel's temper flares again. It's easy and fun to rile him up.

"I can leave," the Weasel retorts but there's simply no weight behind those words.

"Really? You've had plenty of time – days - to Apparate so why haven't you?" Scabior interrogates him and he feels smug when the Weasel becomes reduced to a state of speechlessness. "Ha! You're speechless. You want to know what I think, lad?" Scabior asks as he walks within a foot of the injured man and crouches to his level.

"Preferably not." He looks around the forest –everywhere really except at Scabior. He doesn't want to stare at the man before him (or at least that's what Scabior thinks).

"I think you like the chase. You want to be hunted down and captured." Scabior informs the Weasel and he looks shocked and appalled. Scabior was right on track.

"And why is that in your deranged mind?" He tries to make light of what Scabior said and maybe, consciously, he thinks Scabior had lost his mind, but Scabior can see the sudden tightness his body displays in its appearance. His Weasel knows Scabior's right – he was just in that bloody stupid stage of denial. By the way he was acting the Weasel would still be in it for a while.

At least that made him fun to toy with.

"You want me," Scabior bluntly replies as he stares at the Weasel's boots. He has nice taste – Scabior enjoyed black dragon hide boots as well.

"I have a wife," the Weasel retorts and Scabior notices the fang in his ear. His guesses about him were right and suddenly Scabior knows this redhead's motivations, thrills, and everything Scabior could play with in these moments. The Weasel appreciated humor, loved adventures and excitement, and enjoyed things on the wild side. Scabior felt jittery and excited. Scabior was really enjoying this capture.

"The price of tea in China is pretty high I hear," Scabior uses the old phrase and he can tell the fiery tempered redhead isn't sure what to make of the expression so he acts indignant.

"What rubbish are you talking about? I-" Scabior takes the liberty to interrupt him. Scabior was in charge of this conversation, not the Weasel.

"Oh, I thought we were talking about things that are irrelevant," Scabior shrugs and watches the Weasel grow silent. Scabior was growing on him.

"Aren't you a Snatcher?" Scabior nods.

"I am – the best too," he adds.

"Well, then aren't you supposed to take me to the Ministry because I'm a 'blood traitor'? Or are you a defective loon?" The Weasel tries to insult him but it just isn't working.

"Harsh words, dear. I should. Fenrir would love to have another go at you, but I think I like you," Scabior ponders aloud. The Weasel was a blood traitor, but he's the first source of entertainment Scabior's had in months. Plus, he's far from an eyesore.

"What you have a crush on me?" The Weasel was under the wrong impression.

"More of a fascination really," Scabior clarifies.

"I'm straight," he tells him. Scabior doesn't believe that from the blush gathering on his face and the way he stares at Scabior like he's something new and exciting. But Scabior wouldn't completely flip the Weasel's world upside down. He'd just tilt it a little.

"All straight lines curve or veer off course to some degree." Scabior lies down on the ground beside the Weasel who moves away a few feet. Scabior watches the clouds and feels the Weasel's eyes roam his body. "Besides, aren't you a little curious, my Gryffindor? Or are you afraid?" he teases the redhead, looking back into his blue eyes.

"I'm not afraid, I'm not yours, and I'm not veering." The Weasel looks aggravated and Scabior laughs. He likes this banter. His Snatchers weren't this witty. They were fairly boring really. "How do you know I'm a Gryffindor?" his Weasel asks and Scabior laughs again. Isn't it obvious?

"The red tell tales," Scabior points to his hair, and face. Besides, he was like a lion really.

"What's your name?" Scabior asks. He can't remember his name. He has a whole list of Weasels and their names, but his Snatchers have it at the moment.

"Arthur Williams," the redhead lies and Scabior shakes his head.

"Liar," Scabior labels his lion and the redheaded lion frowns.

"How dare you? I'm not-" Scabior once again takes the liberty to interrupt.

"You hesitated too long – even if you were blinded by my beauty you still would have said your name faster. It's easy to decipher your tell too. And I know you're a Weasley. I just don't know your first name." Scabior watches his face flicker with something – maybe some form of respect for Scabior's logic.

"Why should I tell you?" the redhead demands, though how can he really demand something when he is as defenceless as he is now?

"You're pretty much defenceless." Scabior was always one to voice his thoughts.

"I am not," Weasel glares at him, but Weasel knows Scabior's right. He's just too proud to admit it.

"Yes, you are. You don't have your wand and you're injured," Scabior reminds him.

"I do have my wa-" He searches his pockets for it but soon realizes it's nowhere on him. Did it really take his lion that long to realize this? Gryffindors weren't the smartest of the bunch…

"Nope. I stole it days ago. I suppose that's why you couldn't Apparate. Not that you tried to anyway. You like the adventure, don't you? I bet you work normally in exotic places where everything is a challenge or at least a mystery. You like excitement and I excite you," Scabior explains, and all that follows is silence. Weasel can't argue. Scabior has nailed his character down. Scabior was always good at reading people.

"What's your name?" Scabior asks again when the silence becomes too much to bear. He has a bad feeling that if he lets Weasel ponder his thoughts too long then he'll think something he shouldn't and then he'll be burdened and no fun at all.

"I want yours." Scabior grins. There he is.

"Easy there, I don't believe in marriage," Scabior laughs and watches the Weasel repress a grin. "It's Scabior."

"What kind of a name is that?"

"Let me guess Mr. Green Eyed Monster, I bet you have a boring name. Something like William or Charles or Edward." Scabior's name was a great name. That lion didn't know anything about individualism.

"I am not jealous," the Weasel scoffs and Scabior perks up.

"Oh I guessed it! Which is it? I don't think there was an Edward in my list of Most Wanted. Charles or William?" Scabior guessed his name. Scabior was on a roll with his Weasel.

"Bill," Bill answers him.

"William," Scabior surprisingly likes the sound of his full name on his tongue and by Bill's reaction – he jumps – he does too. "I can see why you prefer Bill," Scabior teases.

"Are we done here? You've done nothing but mock me, insult me, and injure me," Bill complains and Scabior rolls his eyes.

"Your injury was your fault. You tripped. And I've done no such thing as you've mentioned. I have only teased you and spoke the truth." Scabior sighs dramatically like the misunderstood Snatcher he is. Bill remains silent and fiddles with his ankle. Scabior forgot about his ankle. He watches Bill mess with it for a little before he gets bored.

"Does it hurt?" he asks the redhead and he watches the Weasley get indignant once again. Bill had a tendency to act like a child.

"Like you care," Bill shoots back, but Scabior does. Especially with the way it seems to swell. Scabior was going to have to fix it.

"I can fix it." Without letting the lion say a word he pulls his leg over to Scabior's lap and gingerly Scabior pulls his pant leg up and removes his boot.

"Get away from me!" Bill squirms but Scabior's grip is iron tight.

"Now, don't be so put out." Scabior reprimands Bill and when Bill finally relaxes somewhat, he pulls his wand out and whispers a few healing spells. "There," Scabior finishes and Bill moves his leg back.

"How did you do that?"

"I'm an expert at healing on the go. Have to be. It's in the job description," Scabior tells the bewildered Bill.

"Thank you," Bill smiles at Scabior and Scabior claps his hands.

"Aw…. Bill's being sweet!" Scabior cries out in mock joy.

"Shut up, you prick!" Bill stands up and straightens himself out.

"It vanished as fast as it appeared." Scabior remarks wistfully before jumping to his feet as well.

"Can you go away?"

"And leave you here all alone? No, thank you." Scabior answers to the ungrateful Weasley. After all Scabior has done for him…

"I can manage." Scabior raises his eyebrow again in disbelief and places his hands on his hips. Really? Without his wand, how was he going to manage? Scabior waves Bill's wand around for emphasis. Bill narrows his eyes and they stand there for a moment before the distinct shrieks and laughter of his men come rumbling through the trees. Damn. They were going to end his session with his Weasley.

"What's that?" Bill asks and he looks ready to fight, which is slightly amusing since he is still unarmed.

"Oh, that's my gang of Snatchers," Scabior answers irritated. They must be about a mile away at best. His time is being dramatically reduced.

"Are you going to kidnap me?" Bill asks. Scabior scoffs at him and shakes his head. He should, he really should; the money offer's great. But Scabior couldn't take him to the Ministry. He couldn't let the excitement in Bill break.

"No! I wouldn't let them near you. They aren't as merciful as me, you know," Scabior adds. "I'll have to send you home." Scabior's rushing now. No time to waste.

"Give me my wand."

"Nope. I will Apparate with you. I deem you unfit to Apparate." Scabior tries to hide his worry with a tease. Bill doesn't notice his worry with his annoyance flaring up again.

"No, I'll be fine." As soon as those words escape into the air the men are barely visible amongst the horizon. Scabior pushes Bill into a tree – his back hitting the bark – and swore.

"Damn, I don't think I have time to Apparate with you, love. I'll have to send you off. Good day, Bill. I'll be seeing you soon. Just you wait and see." Scabior can see the idiot is going to say something but Scabior can't let his voice be heard and quickly– without thinking as usual – he kisses the redhead man roughly on the lips and then on his jaw, while shoving Bill's wand into his hand. Bill Apparates and Scabior is left alone.

Scabior walks away from the tree and quickly curses. Screaming his head off, he berates his men for not getting there fast enough to help him capture the redhead and further insults their lazy streaks that had caused them to be nowhere in sight when he had caught the Weasel. It was all his men's fault that Bill got away.

After chewing them out, he tells them to go back to base camp and they leave while Scabior hangs back to stare at the tree he pushed Bill into. He was lucky his men didn't have sharp senses like he did. His men probably didn't even see them. They were just behind on their patrol throughout the forest. What kind of rotten luck did Scabior have that they finally decided to do their job then?

"I can't imagine what Mrs. Weasley will think about my little love bite." Scabior grins ear to ear at the very thought that escaped his lips. That cheered Scabior up. How would Bill hide his love bite if it was on his jaw? And Scabior had no doubt that it would turn into a love bite.

Scabior also wonders what Bill will think. He'll probably be horrified and infuriated, while subconsciously loving it.

After all, Scabior is excitement and Bill loves excitement.


End file.
